


Not Fallen

by cat_77



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Set early 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 04:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: For every loss, something somewhere must be gained. The universe balances itself out like that.





	Not Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Set in very early 3B. Diverges from canon after that.
> 
> * * *

They had rounded up what they had thought were the last of the Circle members some time ago, which meant of course more flooded out of the woodwork. Alec was beginning to think Valentine’s legacy would never die. Too many had been infected by his racist close-minded rhetoric, and too few were willing to see the light.

The stress of that knowledge was a background presence at any given moment in his mind. He knew the threat existed. He was beginning to see there would always be more. He was also beginning to see that threat as a pot simmering on the back burner while he dealt with the far more important grease fires of active demon attacks that popped up on a near daily basis instead.

At least that’s what he usually tried to do. Some days it was just plain impossible to ignore that pot and the putrid hatred it contained that inevitably boiled over yet again.

This was, unfortunately, one of those days.

It was a walk in the park. As in a literal one. Magnus had yet to come to terms with his lack of magic and Alec knew at some level that he might never do so. It was such an intricate part of him for so long, and then to lose it? He himself had no frame of reference for such a catastrophic event and resolved to simply be there, as much as Magnus would let him, as often as he could. Today that meant he picked up on the extra dourness and self-directed cutting remarks and decided a bright and sunny day full of nature and others enjoying life might at least tip the scales a tiny bit back into balance.

They had grabbed some ridiculously elaborate coffee drinks and a bag of pastries from a favorite local cafe and the plan was to sit on a park bench and watch the world go by for a while. If he was lucky, maybe there’d be some ducks wandering by and he could regale his love with examples of his parabatai’s completely illogical reaction to the things.

Of course he had no such luck.

Oh, there were ducks. There were also Circle members. As in more than two. As in enough that previously Magnus would have blasted as many away as possible before creating a portal to get the two of them to safety and then both of them would have griped that either one of them could have handled it while they checked the other one over for injuries.

There was no blasting and no portal to be had. There was a very determined Shadowhunter and a 400 year old being with extensive combat training though. They took out what they could but, eventually, Alec’s momentum and chance at taking out more came to a grinding halt. 

They had Magnus.

Two held him steady, seraph blades in hand, while a third called attention to that fact, and the fact his own blade was pointed somewhere vital. “We have a message for you to share with the Clave,” that one announced. Then, with a sneer, he added, “If they even listen to your kind.”

“I’m the Head of the New York Institute,” Alec replied. He hadn’t lowered his guard or his weapon, but knew he was currently vulnerable to the two sneaking up at the edges the way he was currently frozen in place. “I can share your message, but only if you let us walk away to do so.”

“We know who you are. What you are,” the man confirmed. He seemed personally affronted, or at least disgusted by the knowledge. “A Downworlder lover. You taint our kind with your actions. Though, if our sources are to be believed, this one is mortal now. Didn’t use his warlock ways to fight, so maybe he truly is a mundane.”

Alec watched Magnus hang his head at that. Those warlock ways could have turned the tide of battle and it would have been an entirely different conversation they’d be having right now if they had still existed. They both knew it, even as they both knew not to dwell on it now. “What is your message?” he prompted. He mentally calculated the damage control that’d be needed, if they got out of this. The look in his lover’s eyes both told him it would most definitely be required and broke his heart at the same time.

“Simple enough,” the man said, apparently more than willing to get down to business. “We are still here. We are far stronger than you think. And we will not tolerate the fraternization between our kind and these lesser species.”

“A price will be paid for every infraction,” one of the men holding Magnus chimed in.

A wave of cold washed over Alec as the man’s words sank in. Magnus was so vulnerable right now, and so very willing to give up. He could see it in his shadowed eyes, in the slump of his shoulders. He did not just assume that they would kill him, but almost welcomed it.

“Don’t!” was all Alec could manage when the man who had been addressing him moved towards his lover. He readied a shot, knew that they might kill Magnus, might kill Alec himself, but he was going to take down as many of those bastards as he could along the way.

But it was not the glint of a blade that he next saw. It was something so much worse.

The man pulled out a stele even as his cohorts forced Magnus’ head to the side to expose where his neck met his collarbone. “I think we’ll go with Strength,” the man mused idly. “Maybe it’ll make the Forsaken he turns into strong enough to rip even you to pieces.”

Magnus didn’t make a sound as the tip was applied to his skin, but his eyes betrayed his agony, the way his jaw clenched to hold in his scream, the way his body tensed not in preparation to fight but simply to withstand what was coming. 

A very curious thing happened then. The rune did not glow golden, not even for a moment, but shone a fiery red instead. The finished product wasn’t raised or misshapen like the Circle runes of their attackers, but faded down to be sold and smooth, just like the ones that decorated Alec himself.

If the Circle members noticed, they didn’t mention it. Then again, they were too busy laughing and tossing Magnus forward towards Alec, knowing he would try to catch him versus continuing his attack. They took bets on how long it would take for the two of them to kill each other, or if one would win out over the other, lamented their need to escape versus the want to stay to watch the ensuing bloodbath.

Only Magnus managed to catch himself. 

He pushed himself upright and stared at his own hands in awe. Right before he turned on his heel and smacked the man with the stele still in hand hard enough to break his nose with his palm. A turn, a twist, and that same palm hit the next man’s sternum with enough force to knock him backwards onto his ass. An arrow to the knee took out the third, and arrows to the shoulder and the kidney subdued the final two that had originally threatened Alec himself.

Magnus called Jace for reinforcements while Alec stood guard with his bow. He had to actively try to keep his stoic demeanor even while his mind raced with everything that had just happened. When one of the men recovered enough to lunge at Magnus, only to be happily kicked in the jaw to unconsciousness, he also had to resist the urge to smile outright.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” he eventually asked once everyone was properly restrained. He finally gave in to the need to pat his lover down to check for injuries. Bruising at the wrists and probably where they had gripped his biceps, a split lip, and mussed hair seemed to be the worst of it, if you ignored the swirl of script slowly darkening to black beneath the collar of his fancy and now ruined shirt.

“Perhaps my residual warlock status played a role?” Magnus guessed. “I have limited experience with the use of runes on a Downworlder, or anything with demon blood...”

“Not just any demon,” Izzy cut in. She was careful to pitch her voice low enough so that the Shadowhunters gathering the Circle members would not be privy to what she said next. “Asmodeus.”

“So a really powerful demon,” Jace supposed. “I’ve still never seen or even read about anything like this before.”

But the pieces fell into place for Alec much like they must have for his sister moments before. “Asmodeus isn’t just a greater demon. He’s a fallen angel. His blood, angel blood, runs through Magnus.”

“Runes are the language of the angels,” Izzy helpfully supplied. It was, of course, followed by, “We are trying like every adamas weapon we have with you to see your and their reactions. Have you ever held Alec’s stele - not like that, Jace, get your mind out of the gutter - but the one he uses to activate his own runes? When they-”

“Enough, Iz,” Alec cut her off. “We can talk about this later, and I do mean talk only. I won’t have you poisoning or branding him with angelic metals just to see what happens. But... later... okay?”

Thankfully his sister understood completely. She backed down immediately, which was not to say she would forget the topic in the least. For now though, she would give them their space and let them deal with yet another curveball life deemed fit to throw at them. She stepped away to deal with the transportation of their attackers and to less than subtly give them a moment semi-alone.

“Are you okay?” Alec asked. His own weapons tucked away, he gathered Magnus into his arms and simply breathed him in for a moment. “Does it still hurt?” he whispered when he realized how close his lips were to the mark that still gave off a low level of heat.

Magnus leaned into him almost as much as he did to him. There was no slouch though, no air of defeat. He had seen this side of Magnus before, the curious questioning, the need to dig into a situation to discover every tiny thing about it, and then to overcome it all. “It tingles, for lack of a better word,” Magnus admitted. “A subtle vibration, but nothing like the burn of it when they applied it. It’s fading though, much like it’s effects.”

He flexed his hands and Alec pulled back enough to take them into his own. “Runes lose their power over time and we have to reactivate them,” he reminded him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want to test that out right now. Seeing how much it hurt you when they applied it...”

“No, no,” Magnus insisted in the voice that meant he had probably already contemplated it but had pushed it aside for later. “I feel no need to go through that again, not right now. Though I would be curious sometime to see how my body accepts that infamous iratze of yours,” he admitted willingly enough.

That one, even Alec could see as allowed. If it could work, if it could heal Magnus after he inevitably threw himself into battle again, it might be worth the risk. Later though. Not now. Now was for holding. Now was for being together. Now was for appreciating the moment of safety that would probably not last as long as either one of them hoped it would.

As expected, Magnus stepped back far too soon. Not quite as expected was the glint in his eyes, the hint of his old confident self and the undeniable thread of what might be humor. “Does dear Jace hold the same irrational fear that has somehow ingrained itself in the blood of all Herondales?” he asked apropos of nothing. Alec raised a prompting eyebrow in response and was rewarded with an all out grin. “Because there is a drake, a hen, and a slew of ducklings headed his way.” 

Alec pulled out his phone and keyed it to record the soon to be melee. A surefire way to cheer up Magnus was more than worth a grumpy parabatai. The blackmail potential was just an added bonus.


End file.
